


a hundred reasons

by sunsetozier



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, richie is insecure and eddie luvs him lots, they cute fam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: The Prompt:Could you write something about how Richie takes all the ‘beep beeps’ and shut ups and you’re so annoying comments to heart and starts to drift away from the losers? Because he thinks everyone really hates him. Eventually Eddie realizes and is all hell no and tells Richie everything he loves about him in detail?





	a hundred reasons

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt fill for the reddie library!! send more prompts for the writing team [here.](https://reddielibrary.tumblr.com/ask)

            He isn’t sure when, and he isn’t sure how, but at some point, something changed.

            Richie used to _love_ being teased by his friends. He cherished every eye roll, every scoff of a laugh, every reaction he could get, because he _knew_ what it all meant. He knew that it was all good fun – that behind every crinkled nose and disgusted noise, there were amused gazes and loving intentions. They played it up, pretended to be harsh and said fake hateful things, because they knew that he knew without even a shadow of a doubt that they didn’t mean any of it.

            But then, one day… there _was_ a shadow of a doubt, an odd little aching feeling, almost like a ball of dread settling in his gut and making his stomach churn uncomfortably. Since then, it’s been consistent, which would have be fine on its own – realistically, he could just push that feeling away, tell himself he’s being paranoid and move on – but along with sticking around, it’s gotten bigger, expanding through his chest and his lungs and his heart, a black hole breaking through his ribcage and letting the shattered remains stab at him from the inside, seemingly shredding his heart to pieces in the process. Now, when someone rolls their eyes, it feels like they delivered a lip-splitting punch instead, and even hearing the usual _beep beep_ ’s makes him feel like he might puke.

            He tries to tell himself that he’s wrong, that it’s all jokes, that he’s overreacting for no good reason. He doesn’t believe it, though, so he pushes that agonizingly sharp pain away, lets it fester, assures himself that he’ll get over it soon. He’s so fucking _sure_ that he’ll get over it soon.

            Until the day that it just… it gets to be too much, and he realizes he won’t be getting over it at all.

            It’s the middle of summer, and it’s an insanely normal day, the seven of them together. For this particular day, they’ve chosen to reside at the quarry, relaxing in the mid-afternoon sun and letting it settle over them like a warm, comfortable blanket. So far, Richie’s chosen not to say much, because he knows what will happen if he does. He knows that he’ll make a joke, and he’ll get the usual theatrics in response, but those theatrics will hurt, and the day won’t be normal because he’ll be too upset to enjoy it. He doesn’t want to ruin this, so he stays quiet. The only problem is, they notice.

            “You feelin’ okay, Rich?” Beverly asks from where she’s laying on the ground, her head lulling to the side to squint up at where he’s perched on a rock by the shore, watching the others poke and prod at each other as they lounge around in the shallow water, mostly just enjoying the cool liquid against their overheated skin instead of swimming. Richie considered joining them, but he decided on wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and sitting next to Beverly instead. Beverly is always quiet when she lays in the sun. Today is different, it seems. “You’re awfully quiet.”

            “I’m doing just fine, Miss Marsh,” he says, hoping the thick feeling in his throat isn’t evident in the way he speaks. She only smiles at him. It must be convincing, then. “The suns just fried my brain and your beauty rendered me speechless,” he goes on, flashing her a grin that he knows looks real but feels completely fabricated and forced.

            Snorting, Beverly lays her head back and lets her eyes flutter shut once more, apparently deeming Richie his usual self and dropping any previous concern. “Sun can’t fry what was never there,” she jokes, but even something as simple as that feels like a bullet to the chest, violently sucking the air from his lungs. Thankfully, she isn’t looking at him, so she doesn’t see the way he flinches and turns away to keep watching the others fuck around in the water. After a moment, he decides that he can’t sit still any longer and gets to his feet, hoping that taking a dip will provide a distraction.

            As it turns out, this is the wrong move to make, as the other five immediately turn their attention to him when he wades into the quarry, and all of them are grinning but he can still feel that dread forming within him. With a glint in his eyes, Mike half-heartedly splashes Richie and asks, “You finally joining us, Tozier?”

            “Was thinking about it,” he shrugs, focusing his gaze on where he’s stepping solely for the excuse to not be looking at them.

            With a little laugh, Stan cocks his head to the side, an action that Richie can only see due to his reflection in the water, and muses, “Huh, I didn’t know you were even capable of thinking. Is that a new development for you, or…?”

            This draws out snickers from the rest of them, but Richie almost stumbles in reaction, roughly swallowing the lump in his throat. _They’re just joking,_ he tells himself, knowing that it’s true but unable to really make himself believe it. He tries to summon his usuall shit-eating smile and nonchalant behavior, but he thinks he falls short. “Well of course I can think, darlin’,” he drawls out in a southern accent, squinting through the sunlight in order to send a wink in their general direction. “After all, Eddie’s mom is always on my mind. Speakin’ of the love of my life, tell me, Eds, how’re you doing? Miss me yet? Want me to pay you a nice little visit tonight? Keep your window unlocked and I swear I’ll stop by.”

            “Oh, beep beep, you fucking annoying asshole,” Eddie scoffs with the roll of his eyes, copying Mike’s actions by splashing water at him, whilst the rest burst into laughter around them.

            It’s the laughing that gets him. A few months ago, hearing their laughter ring through the summer air would have been absolutely elating, because he knew that _he_ caused that, that _he_ brought the joy and entertainment that left them hunched over with aching bellies and tears in their eyes and smiles so wide they were painful, but now it’s different. Now, when they laugh, it feels like they’re laughing _at_ him, like he, himself, is the joke.

            Like the only thing he’s good at is being something for them to poke at for a bit of entertainment.

            “I, uh- I gotta- I gotta go,” he stammers out, because suddenly it’s too overwhelming, the amount of jumbled thoughts in his head and the way his heart is pounding heavily in his chest and the fact that he can’t hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Faintly, he thinks they call his name, but he just staggers his way out of the water, feeling like there’s a dagger buried between two of his ribs, and takes off without even bothering to grab his shoes or put his shirt back on.

            He gets cuts on the soles of his feet, little scratches left behind from sharp rocks and snapping twigs, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting to his house, going to his room, and taking a long, long nap. Maybe, when he wakes up, things will be normal and he won’t feel like this anymore.

            It doesn’t work.

            The following morning, when Richie trudges out of bed with more reluctance than usual, his dad’s already left for work and his mom is sitting in the living room with a book and a glass of lemonade. He tells her that he isn’t feeling well and to send his friends away if any of them try to stop by. She asks him if he needs anything. He just shrugs and says he needs the day to himself. With that, she lets him go back to his room, but still makes him promise to tell her if she needs to run to the store for medicine or soup or anything he may end up needing.

            The day is slow and difficult. He hates not doing anything, but the mere idea of seeing any of the losers after the way he felt yesterday – the way he still feels today – makes him want to lock the door and never leave. And the worst part is that he knows he’s being ridiculous, could recite a hundred reasons why these feelings are wrong, why _he’s_ wrong, but no matter how much he tries to tell himself that, it still settles on his shoulders and weigh him down to the point that even taking a single step feels like lifting a million pounds. As much as he hates it, wallowing in bed and trying not to think about it is his best option. Besides, the day may be slow, but eventually his dad comes home and they have dinner, and his mom says that Stan and Mike stopped by at one point to see if Richie still wanted to hang out at Bill’s house that day, and then he goes back to his room and lays down and keeps trying not to think about it.

            And then Eddie fucking Kaspbrak falls through his window at eleven at night, not even trying to be quiet as curses fall from his lips and his body thumps loudly against the carpeted floor. The initial shock of the noise causes Richie to sit up suddenly, eyes bugging out of his head as he flails an arm out to grapple with his glasses on the nightstand, sliding them up the slope of his nose so fast that he nearly pokes himself in the eye in the process. In the natural moonlight shining through the window, it only takes a moment for him to identify that it’s Eddie sprawled out on the floor, breathing heavily as if he’d just run a mile. His heart in his throat, Richie asks, “Eds?”

            “Jesus Christ,” Eddie gusts out in a single breath, letting his eyes flutter shut as he inhales deeply. “Fuck, you have it _way_ easier than I do, you asshole. God, fuck you and your god damn two story house. What happened to, like, conveniently-placed trees outside of windows, huh? Why don’t you have a tree?”

            Richie blinks, confused. “Are you here to tell me I need to get a tree?”

            “No,” Eddie huffs, taking another moment to breathe before rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself to his feet. “I’m here to figure out what the hell is going on with you, but yeah, you should get a tree. Or at least a ladder, because that climb was horrible and I never want to do it again.”

            “You could have used the front door,” he points out, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he was just asleep a few seconds ago or not, but he almost laughs at how disgruntled Eddie looks, his clothes ruffled and his hair sticking up from the wind.

            Eddie’s eyes narrow down into a glare then, his arms crossing over his chest as he cocks his head to the side. “Really? ‘Cause when Mike and Stan tried to talk to you, Maggie sent them away. She said you weren’t feeling good, but you look fine to me, so what is it, huh? Why were you avoiding us today? And, what- what the hell was that yesterday? You were completely fine and then you just up and left!”

            There’s no urge to laugh now, no, not as Richie stares at Eddie with his lips parted in surprise, words stuck in the back of his throat. It’s not often he’s rendered speechless, but he doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t know if he should answer in the first place. How could he possibly explain this?

            “Y’know,” Eddie goes on, apparently realizing that Richie won’t answer, “I’ve been noticing that you’ve been acting weird. And I… I wanted to ask about it, but you’re- you’re _you,_ okay? You’re stubborn as shit and it’s so fucking annoying how hard it is to get you to open up and—”

            He cuts off with an aggravated sigh, and that black hole is back, swirling in Richie’s chest and getting ready to swallow him whole. He can feel his eyes stinging and he tries not to acknowledge it, tries to push it away, because he won’t cry about this, refuses to break down in front of Eddie, but all he can hear in his head is _annoying, annoying, annoying, annoying, annoying, annoying—_

            “And I’ve been trying to think of how to- to bring it up,” Eddie continues, taking a step forward and uncrossing his arms in order to gesture in front of him as he speaks. “Because I want to help, you know? If something’s wrong, I want to help make it better, or- or at least offer some kind of comfort, but I didn’t know how to do that without you overreacting or acting like a dick, but then you ran off yesterday and you didn’t hang out with us today and I’m tired of trying to think of the right way to address this, so what is it? What’s going on? And don’t you _dare_ say it’s nothing, because I know you better than that.”

            “I, uh…” Richie trails off, shaking his head hopelessly. Eddie doesn’t look away, holding Richie’s gaze with steely, determined eyes, waiting and expecting a response. A good response, too, Richie knows – he wants something that makes sense, something he can understand. A real explanation.

            Richie bursts into tears instead.

            He doesn’t really understand why he snaps, not really, but suddenly his breath is stuttering in his chest and those tears that were stinging the backs of his eyes are rolling down his cheeks uncontrollably. Surprised, Eddie’s eyes go wide as he quickly scrambles forward, murmuring, “Hey, hey, no, don’t cry, Rich,” over and over under his breath. He climbs onto Richie’s bed and kneels next to his trembling body, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking at him like he doesn’t know what to do. Richie supposes he doesn’t. “Talk to me,” he begs quietly. “Please.”

            “I don’t—” Richie hiccups, burying his face in his hands and trying to force words out through his trembling breaths. There’s a lump in his throat that makes his voice thick and he can’t even see past the blur of tears in his eyes. “I- I didn’t- I don’t want to- to- _fuck!”_

            “Don’t want to what, Richie?” Eddie asks helplessly. He seems to throw caution to the win as he uses his hand on Richie to pull him closer, until his head is resting in Eddie’s chest and Eddie can wrap his arms around Richie to hold onto him, feeling his shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. Sounding borderline desperate, he says, “C’mon, Rich, you’re- you’re alright, okay? Everything’s okay.”

            “No, it’s not,” Richie cries, and he can’t tell if he’s trying to push Eddie away or not but he ends up clutching onto his shirt instead, fisting the material and holding on like the world will disappear around him if he even attempts to let go. “It’s not- not fucking _okay_ , Eddie! It’s- I’m- I don’t _want_ to be annoying, Eds, I never- I _never_ wanted to—”

            Eddie shushes him, tightening his hold and rocking them back and forth gently, breathing out soft little words of encouragement and comfort as Richie tries to suppress his uncontrollable wails, not wanting to draw his parents attention but being unable to hold it in any longer. It feels like a dam within him has broken, and all of the hurt, the pain, the agonizing black hole itself is pouring out of him in dry little hiccups and deep, heaving breaths that ache in his chest. He can feel the dampness on his face as his tears seep into the material of Eddie’s shirt, and he wants to stop crying but he doesn’t think he’s capable of it with every suppressed emotion and every joking insult playing and replaying in his mind.

            _Shut up. You’re annoying. Can’t you ever be quiet? I didn’t think you were capable of thinking. You’re an idiot, Trashmouth. Beep beep, asshole._

            “You gotta talk to me, Rich,” Eddie whispers into Richie’s hair, and there’s so much raw worry and concern in his voice that Richie knows he can’t back out. Not that he could anyway after crying like this, but still, there’s definitely no trying to backtrack now.

            He’s still trembling horribly, a steady trickle of tears still rolling down his blotchy red cheeks, but he pulls away from Eddie anyway, scooting back to put some space between them as he brings his knees to his chest and tries to wipe his face dry. Eddie looks somewhat affronted by this withdrawal, but he doesn’t do anything other then move over so that he’s sitting next to Richie, both of their backs pressed to the wall. Staring down at his hands, twisting his fingers into the material of his blanket, Richie clears his throat and tries to will his waterworks away. He’s cried enough, he doesn’t need to keep crying when he’s trying to talk.

            Eddie’s hand twitches, as if he’s resisting the urge to reach over. “Richie?”

            “It’s the jokes,” Richie croaks, his voice thick and slow and raw. Once the words are out there, he can’t help but wince, guilt already forming hot and ugly inside his chest. Sniffling once, he rests his chin on top of his knees and quickly explains, “I mean the- the _shut up_ ’s, you know? And the _annoying_ ’s and the _stupid_ ’s and the beep fucking beep—”

            “You mean the stuff that you know we don’t mean?” Eddie asks, confused.

            With a huff, Richie counters, “Are you sure you don’t mean it? Because recently it hasn’t felt fake. It’s actually felt… really real. Like none of you even like me anymore. Like I… like all I’m good for is making you guys laugh. Like you’re all laughing at me instead of at the things I say.”

            Eddie falters, his brows furrowing together slightly as he looks at Richie in shock, the gears turning in his head almost audible in the silence of Richie’s bedroom, until something seems to click and he incredulously questions, “Wait, you… you don’t think we like you anymore? You, Richie Tozier, don’t think that we, the self-named Losers Club, don’t want you around? That we just use you for a laugh? Is that really what you think of us, Richie?”

            “No,” Richie grumbles, releasing his nervous grip on his blanket in order to wrap his arms around his shin and wipe the still-falling tears off his cheeks with the knees of his pajama pants. “That’s not what I think of you guys, it’s… it’s what I think of me, I guess.”

            “Oh.” Eddie pauses, his eyes going so soft and so sad that Richie can feel the way they burn holes into his skin without having to look at them. “Richie, I—”

            “I mean, I know I can be a pain in the ass,” Richie interrupts, not ready to hear what Eddie has to say. Not ready to confront the idea that maybe he’s actually right, maybe the jokes stopped being jokes a long time ago. “And I know I can be annoying, and- and loud, and my jokes can be really inappropriate and it makes you guys uncomfortable sometimes, and I never know when to be serious, and, just- I _know_ , okay? I know, but I… _fuck.”_ He stubbornly wipes at his cheeks and tries to make his lower lip stop trembling before whispering, “I just- I never thought that would be an issue with you guys, you know?”

            Immediately, Eddie shakes his head, reaching over and taking ahold of Richie’s chin to turn his head until they’re face-to-face, and Richie can see Eddie’s eyes shining. “Fuck that,” Eddie states firmly, not releasing Richie’s chin but loosening his grip to give him the ability to pull back if he wants to. He doesn’t. “Fuck all of that,” Eddie goes on, though this time a little softer. “We _love_ you, okay? You’re, like, the foundation of everything we are. You keep us sane by driving us insane. Without you, we… we’d lose our minds, Richie. We need you.” Richie swallows thickly, their close proximity making it so that he has to glance between Eddie’s eyes to see them both, but he can’t find a hint of dishonesty swimming in those glimmering greys. Taking his silence as an invitation to keep talking, Eddie adds, “And you’re right, you can be annoying and loud and inappropriate, but all of us are. We’re all rowdy and stupid and… and sometimes we say stuff without thinking, you know? All of us, we…” Eddie lets out a slow exhale, and now Richie can see guilt in his gaze. “I never thought you’d take what we said seriously. I mean, we’ve been saying dumb shit like that since we were in middle school, and you never showed any sort of negative reaction to it before. I guess we… I just assumed you knew that none of it was true.”

            “I did,” Richie says softly. “I always did, but… _fuck,_ I don’t know. Something just changed a few months ago, and then it… it _hurt_. All of it. It hurt _so fucking much_ , Eds, and I- I didn’t- I couldn’t—”

            “Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie coos gently, cupping Richie face in both of his palms in order to wipe his tears away with the pads of his thumbs. His features are so strained and upset, and part of Richie regrets opening up about this because he hates being the one to cause Eddie distress, but the rest of him leans into the contact greedily for the warmth and comfort. Once he sees that Richie’s calmed down again, Eddie quietly suggests, “You know, if you- if you want, I can tell you why I… why we love you. So that, uh- instead of thinking about all the stupid shit we don’t mean, you’ll think about the stuff we _do_ mean.”

             Slowly, Richie nods, his voice breaking when he replies, “O-Okay.”

            Eddie seems to see the doubt in Richie’s eyes, and Richie can’t help it, really – after going so long being solely referred to as all these negatives things, it’s hard for him to think there’s anything good about him for people to like, let alone love. Setting his jaw in determination, Eddie breathes, “Okay,” and shifts slightly until he’s on his knees, sitting back on the heels of his feet before maintaining steady eye contact with Richie. He looks far more serious than he has in years. It makes Richie nervous. “Richie Tozier, you are one of the best people this world has ever created,” Eddie starts with so much certainty in his voice that it makes Richie feel a little breathless. “You’re brave. You’re willing to let people hurt you if it means they won’t hurt your friends. You might talk a lot, but you know how to listen. You know when to be the comic relief and when to be serious. You’re so naturally smart that it’s kind of infuriating, but you’re the only person I know who explains Calculus in a way that I understand, so I’m fine with you being a genius. You won’t defend yourself but you’ll defend everyone else, which can be so fucking stupid because you put yourself in danger all the fucking time, but it’s because you _care_. You _care_ , Richie, so fucking much, more than anyone else I’ve ever met. Sometimes, I don’t know how you can handle caring as much as you do. If my heart was as big as yours, I’d be overwhelmed all the time, but you handle it, somehow. I still haven’t figured out how, but you do.”

            Breath stuttering in his chest, Richie lets out a watery exhale and says, “Eds—”

            “Let me finish,” Eddie interrupts quickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows roughly. Wordlessly, Richie sucks in another breath and seals his lips together with a curt nod, signaling Eddie to keep going. After a moment of hesitation, he does. “You’re a leader,” he murmurs. “In a different way than Bill is, you know? He leads, sure, but you _guide_. I… We don’t feel whole when you’re not with us. It’s like we’re a seven piece puzzle, and without you, we’re just not complete. And you…” Eddie trails off, suddenly nervous, but he just keeps gently swiping his thumbs under Richie’s eyes and takes a deep breathing before continuing. “You have the kindest eyes, and the warmest smile, and the most contagious laugh I’ve ever heard. Your voice is capable of being so loud but so gentle, too, and your impressions are shit, but they’re charming. And you have these- these freckles, all over your face and your shoulders and your arms, and you have some moles, too, like the one on your wrist, and at the bottom of your neck.” Momentarily, his eyes flicker down as he looks at that very mole, before meeting Richie’s gaze again. “I don’t know why, but something about them is adorable. They make you look… innocent, I guess. I always thought people lost their freckles when they got older since a lot of mine went away, but, if anything, you got more. Maybe it’s just the fact that Maggie calls freckles angel kisses or something, but I just… I find them so fucking cute, every time I look at you. I’ve always wanted to count them, see how many there are, but I never knew how to ask because it felt like it’d be weird.”

            “It _would_ be weird,” Richie agrees. He sees Eddie’s breath catch and panic bloom in his eyes, making him quick to add, “But only if it was someone else. It wouldn’t be weird with you. Nothing’s ever weird with you, Eds.”

            This lets Eddie relax, and he doesn’t pull away, but he looks like he thinks he should. Richie doesn’t want him to. “Should I… keep going?”

            And for the first time in months, Richie doesn’t feel any sort of doubt. Bringing a hand up to rest over one of Eddie’s and leaning into Eddie’s palm, Richie says, “That depends. Are these still reasons why all of you guys love me, or is it reasons why _you_ love me?”

            “I don’t love you,” Eddie deadpans instinctively, only to immediately flinch. “Shit, sorry, I—”

            “Didn’t mean it,” Richie finishes. His face is still tear stained and his body still aches from such heavy crying, but he smiles. “I know, Eds. I always knew you loved me.”

            Eddie glances over Richie’s features, uncertain. “Are you sure? Because you were literally just sobbing, like, five minutes ago. I could keep going for hours, Rich, no problem. Seriously, listing a hundred reasons for loving you is easy. I never want some dumb joke to make you feel like that ever again, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure of that. So, how do I… how do I do that? How can I make sure you never forget how much we love you? Do I keep going? What do I do?”

            Hesitating, Richie takes a minute to consider this. Part of him wants to make a joke, knows that he’d be able to, but the air is still heavy with what he admitted to and he knows that any joke would only result in making Eddie impatient and potentially agitated. “Just tell me, I guess,” Richie eventually sighs, shrugging. “I don’t know, honestly. This hasn’t been a problem before and I don’t really know how to deal with it, Eds. I have no clue.”

            “I’ll tell you every day,” Eddie agrees quickly. “Hell, I’ll tell you every _minute_ if that’ll help.” Then, to reiterate his point, he grins a wide, happy grin and says, “I love you, Richie. I love you to pieces. I love you when you’re being annoying and stupid. I love you when you throw me in the quarry, even though I tell you not to every single time. I love you when you sneak in my room and wake me up in the middle of the night because you’re bored. I love you when you do something dangerous and I have to patch your dumb ass up. I love you all the time, every day, no matter what.”

            “Do you mean that the way I think you mean it?” Richie can’t help but ask. Before this, he had been sure the feelings were mutual, but after these past few months, he can’t help but to question it.

            Eddie just hums, eyes bright. “How do you think I mean it?”

            Richie opens his mouth to respond, but the words get stuck, and it feels like Eddie’s skin is burning his where he’s still cradling his face, but it’s not in a bad way, not even close. It’s pleasant, nice, a constant physical reminder that Eddie is with him right now, and it’s with these thoughts that Richie decides to do something a little bit reckless. He figures, if he can open up about the thing that has been weighing him down for months now, he can survive this, too, no matter what the outcome may be.

            He opts out of speaking and leans forward to kiss Eddie instead.

            Listing a hundred reasons for loving Richie is, as Eddie claims, an easy thing to do. Whether or not Richie believes that is one thing, but he does know this: while Eddie can list hundreds, Richie can list _millions_. He loves Eddie for millions of reasons and more, and proving it would be easy, but now is not the time to keep talking. Instead, he tilts his head to the side, feels one of Eddie’s hands slide up to comb through his hair whilst the other drops to brush at the mole on the base of Richie’s neck, and he deepens the kiss. When Eddie kisses back just as fervently, he knows that Eddie knows what he’s saying without having to say anything at all, and he thinks that nothing – not the jokes, not the doubt, not the black hole, _nothing_ – can ever bring him down again.


End file.
